


Making Mistakes and Making Amends

by Brenna_Fae



Series: Adventures of a Fan Girl [4]
Category: Supernatural, Supernatural RPF
Genre: Angst, Body Worship, Drinking, Drunk Dialing, Exhibitionism, F/M, Fluff, Light Dom/sub, Marking, Mild Painplay, Punishment, Quickies, Smut, Spanking, Vaginal Sex, Vibrators, mentions of polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-06
Updated: 2016-12-15
Packaged: 2018-08-19 19:26:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 19,589
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8222182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brenna_Fae/pseuds/Brenna_Fae
Summary: You've ended things with Misha. It was the right thing to do. So why do you feel so goddamn shitty?
*Tags will evolve with chapters and there are likely to be a couple that haven't found their way into the series previously so mind them*





	1. Drunk Dialing is for Children...But Screw it.

Three weeks.

Three of the most miserable weeks of your life.

The first week you half expect to hear from Misha. You don’t want to. You know you’d only cave and then you’d be right back to where you started.

The second week has you slipping into a numb state of existing only for routine. You go to work, you sleep, you eat. You take care of all the necessities, interacting with the people in your real life that require your attention. As far as your online family; you’ve cut yourself off. You tell yourself it’s only temporary, that you aren’t ready to go on social media and see him everywhere.

Midway through the third week and it’s starting to dawn on you that everything you’d worried about losing because you were involved with Misha was slipping through your fingers anyway. So instead of going home after work and curling up to mindlessly stare at the TV you allow yourself to be dragged out with your coworkers.

For a little while you let yourself be pulled into conversation, as you’re lulled by the voices and easy laughs of coworkers you’ve know for years. _This_ is easy. _This_ is uncomplicated.

Until you find yourself leaning against the bar waiting for drinks and have to fight back a sob when a hand grips your shoulder and for a moment you’re back in the bar at the hotel with Misha pressed against you, the thrill of not knowing what to Misha would do next coursing through you.

You bring the drinks back to the table with the help of the coworker that had caused the flashback and spend the rest of the evening faking laughs and smiles.

Determined to continue to take back pieces of what you’ve given up, you spend Thursday cautiously logging in to all of your social media accounts. You ignore notifications and timelines and stick to the safety of direct messages.

Not surprisingly, your absence was noticed. Fiona had texted you after the first couple of days when you hadn’t responded to her of course. When you told her what happened she called you an idiot and then proceeded to shower you with love and support.

She’d asked if she could post something a few days after that when people were starting to get concerned. The flood of messages taper off after that, each ending with with well wishes. You spend the rest of your morning going through and giving brief responses before getting ready for work.

By the time you drag yourself home all you want to do is eat and pass out. You heat up some leftovers and curl up in a chair to eat as you pull out your phone, assuming you probably had a response or two from the people you’d replied to this morning. Your assumptions prove correct and you spend some time going through and responding when necessary while you finish your food.

Unfortunately you find yourself wishing you hadn’t just eaten when the food in your stomach turns to stone when you open up a message from a friend that had just gone to her first con a little less than three weeks ago. The con that Misha was heading to the night things went bottom up.

_Hey! So glad you’re back! Look! I finally got my Mishalecki op! Aren’t they beautiful??_

It’s a standard squishy hug. You remember your friend panicking about her pose the entire time between when she bought it and the last time you talked to her the day before the con. You’re glad she ended up going with your suggestion to keep it simple, knowing how little she’d remember if she was worried the whole time about explaining the pose.

You can’t help but smile softly as you trace the lines of Misha wrapped snugly around your friend, the slightly out of place hair that you knew would be driving him crazy if he was aware, the strong hand reaching to grasp Jared’s arm. Too soon though you feel the smile slip from your face as your eyes stop at Misha’s face.

Most people would probably see a tired but overall happy Misha. They wouldn’t notice the tension in his mouth or around his eyes. They wouldn’t notice that the smile doesn’t quite make it to those eyes.

People who hadn’t seen the profound sadness in them when he thought he’d broken something or when he’d had to say goodbye. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to know what had put it there since this was the day after you ended everything.

A mature person would examine their feelings at this point to try and figure out why ending a casual relationship still hurt as much three weeks later as it did the moment it happened.

A smart person would consider the actions that led up to said situation and weigh pros and cons to see how best to process feelings and decide what they want.

A reasonable person would be willing to acknowledge that there’s something to this kind of reaction and try to figure out if there was something here that needed to be looked at more closely, mistakes that may have been made but could be fixed.

That kind of person probably wouldn’t often think of Dean Winchester as their spirit animal.

Good thing you have half a bottle of tequila tucked away in your cabinet. A half an hour later, you’re contemplating in a very brief moment of sobriety whether or not someone should have eight shots of tequila in such a short amount of time. Deciding that you’re absolutely correct, eight is a terrible number, you knock back three more in quick succession.

Bed would probably be a good idea but you find yourself drawn back to your phone. You pick it up with the intention to torture yourself with videos of Misha at the convention because your self hatred is reaching an all time high and you deserve to hurt.

Instead you find yourself pulling up the text messages that you hadn’t been able to force yourself to delete yet. Rereading the last message there, each word cuts into you as they have every other time you found yourself reading them. Except this time you see Misha’s face as he reads them, his beautiful kind eyes going from the light happiness at seeing a message from you to the deep sadness that you can see in that op.

You don’t even remember tapping the little phone shaped icon. All you are conscious of is the fact that the screen has opened up for an active call and you can hear the very faint ringing of a call trying to connect. You know you should hang up but you find yourself rather clumsily bringing the phone up to your ear.

When you hear the strained gravelly _Hello?_ Come across the line you nearly drop the damn phone. You search your booze addled brain for something to say. Aim for clever and witty. Maybe casual and flirty would be better. Deep and insightful? Whatever you pick make it strong and confident. If only.

“What’s wrong with me Misha?” you ask, your voice small, weak and most definitely slurred.

“Shit. You’ve been drinking. That’s why you called.” Misha said, the disappointment in his voice apparent to you even in your current state.

“No shit Sherlock.” you grumble.

You curl up in the chair as best as your uncoordinated limbs will allow, pressing the phone between the arm of the chair and your ear before allowing your arms to flop heavily over the edge of the seat. The warm feeling you’re getting just from hearing Misha speak those few words is starting to make you feel surly.

“Jesus, how much have you had?” Misha asks as you hear the shutting of a door over the line.

You pick up the bottle of tequila with one of your dangling hands and put it up to your face to squint at it. Your eyes go wide before you speak again.

“Misha...someone’s been drinking my tequila! It’s almost gone.” You say in a nervous whisper.

You hear Misha sigh into the phone.

“Look, you don’t really want to do this. Do me a favor and get some water and then get some sleep. We’ll just...we can pretend you never called, if you even remember.”

“No!” You say in a panic. “I know I don’t deserve it but please, tell me what’s wrong with me so I can fix it. Tell me why I can’t be normal.”

“Even if I had _any_ idea what you were talking about you’re barking up the wrong tree, sweetie.” Misha says with a soft chuckle. “I’ve never been accused of being normal a day in my life.”

“No no no.” You practically shout in frustration. “I wanna be like a normal girl. I wanna just say to hell with it. Any normal girl would happily just fuck you as much as possible, just follow you anywhere, give anything. Take anything”

Your mouth is suddenly feeling dry so you pause long enough to swallow the last of the tequila before continuing on in a rush.

“You’re Misha Fucking Collins, for crying out loud. You’re brilliant, gorgeous, kind, funny and really fucking good at sex. Who would be stupid enough to not give up everything for just a little bit of that?” You hiss the last question.

“As much as I enjoy hearing all that from my favorite fan, you and I both know that was never something you could do.” Misha said, his voice a mix of tension and affection.

“I will though.”

Misha’s silent for a while and you can feel your chest starting to constrict. Finally, he speaks.

“I’m not sure I’m following you...”

“I can do it Misha. I can...I can...I’ll be that person for you. It’s not important. I can wait, I can go where you want me, when you want me. I don’t care if I get caught. I’ll...I’ll go confess on Twitter right now. Just please...please tell me I didn’t break this beyond fixing.” Your last words come out practically as a whisper.

“No, damn it! That’s not what would make you happy. Fuck!”

You cringe away from the phone when Misha yells. The uncharacteristic harshness of it has your stomach twisting.

“I’m sorry Misha. I already made you sad...you were so sad...when I saw...didn’t mean...I didn’t wanna...now I made you angry.”

Misha sighs heavily and you can picture him running his fingers roughly through his hair clear as day.

“I’m not angry. Frustrated as hell that you’re too drunk to have this conversation with any certainty. Which brings me to my next point, I’m not decoding your drunk very well and have no idea what the rest of that was about.”

“I made you sad.” You say in a voice so small you aren’t sure if he heard but you continue on. “I saw, in the picture, the photo op. Your eyes were _so_ sad. Why were they sad Misha? I don’t understand. You should be happy. I’m not worth being sad-”

“That’s enough!” Misha cuts you off harshly. “Damn it I can’t _do_ this!”

“I’m sorry Misha I shouldn’t have...shouldn’t have called. Just, be happy please.” You say, shoving down the sob that’s trying to break free.

“No! That isn’t what I meant! I can’t do this while you’re drunk. Just...get yourself some water and get to bed. Then call me in the morning, if you even remember this.” Misha says, resigned.

You curl into a tighter ball in the chair, your eyelids feeling heavy.

“No, don’t wanna get up. Too tired. Wanna sleep.” You mumble into the phone.

“Little girl this is not up for discussion. You _will_ get up and you _will_ get water.”

The steel in Misha’s voice shoots straight through to your belly and you can’t suppress the soft moan.

“Cheap, Misha. That was cheap.”

Regardless you extract yourself from the chair and stumble to the kitchen with the phone still pressed to your ear. You follow orders and drink a large glass of water before stumbling off to bed.

The last thing you hear as you drift off is Misha’s whispered voice.

“Sweet dreams, my little girl.”

***

Waking up is hard on a good day.

Today is not a good day.

Before you even have a chance to move or open your eyes pain is lancing through your head and you freeze in place until the waves of nausea become more manageable. As you lay there you slowly become aware that something smooth and hard is pressed between your face and the pillow.

Lifting your head with a wince you extract your phone and manage to open your eyes enough to look at the screen when you wake it up. You groan loud enough that the sound shoots through your head and causes more pain and nausea when you see Misha’s contact info on the screen. Last night was definitely not a booze induced nightmare.

After much struggle you manage to drag yourself out of bed and force feed yourself water and tylenol. Coffee is tempting but when your stomach twists dangerously you decide against it. Instead you drown your physical and mental pain in an indulgently long shower before throwing yourself back down on the bed to stare at the phone.

The truth is that you may not have called if you hadn’t been drunk, but as much as Misha may have tried to insist it wasn’t because you didn’t want to. You were just too much of a coward. It was never a mystery to you that breaking things off had nothing to do with Misha and everything to do with how weak and pathetic you feel.

The fact is though, you can’t leave Misha hanging like that. Part of you wants to call him just to beg him to tell you what to do, to make your decisions for you. If you’re honest with yourself the only time you’ve felt even remotely calm and happy in the last few weeks were the few moments after Misha ordered you to drink. But you know that Misha won’t do that, nor would you want to force him to take on that much of a responsibility.

You pick up your phone, finally getting the courage to call, but then you see the time. You have to be at work in thirty minutes. Not nearly enough time for any significant conversation as well as getting ready and driving to work.

You contemplate calling out but between the uneasy roll of your stomach at the thought and the memory of Misha getting angry when you suggested what you would give up, you decide it wouldn’t be starting you off on the right foot. This was what got you here in the first place.

Instead you shoot off a quick text to Misha.

_I’m awake and alive, barely. I have to go to work now but I didn’t want you to think that I wasn’t calling you. I’m out at three. Call me then if you want to._

You set the phone down on your nightstand and finish getting ready for work. When you’re done you pick up your phone and see you’ve got a new message.

_Glad to hear you lived. Also glad you still want to talk now that good ole Jose isn’t whispering in your ear. But I’m not going to call you. I’ll be available after 7 your time. Call me then if you still want to talk._

You feel a tight squeeze as you finish reading the text. Guilt starts adding to the current situation in your stomach. Misha had never been shy about his affection and was always concerned with your well being but he was like that with all of his friends.

If you were really honest with yourself you figured Misha would be bummed when you ended things, he certainly enjoyed your interludes. But it had always been clear that if it stopped working for either of you then you would end it. Misha had never expressed anything to the contrary, was even occasionally the one to bring it up. You never expected it to be more than a passing bad day for him.

Then you saw that damn op and heard his voice and how defeated he sounded as he implied you wouldn’t still want him when you were sober. Even now with this text the doubt he had that he would hear from you damn near drowns you in guilt.

As you grab your keys you type out a quick reply.

 _I_ will _. I promise._

***

Somehow you manage to get through your shift, although you can only hope your work was adequate since you can’t really remember much of what you did.

You opt to run errands that you’d normally take care of over the weekend but since you had almost four hours to kill, you’d rather not spend them watching the clock. You manage two hours, taking your time instead of rushing as usual. You pick up takeout for dinner, not wanting to risk burning anything in your distracted state.

When you get home you curl up with food and Netflix. For a brief moment the twisted humor part of your brain contemplates watching Supernatural but you decide against it. Luckily you’ve got a few episodes of the latest show you’re binge watching left to go before finishing up the season and you manage to get wrapped up in that. Not so wrapped up that you don’t know the exact second the clock reads seven.

You contemplate briefly searching for more alcohol but decide it wouldn’t be the best way to start off. Your hand shakes as you pick up your phone and pull up Misha’s contact page. Taking a deep breath you hit the call button before you can chicken out and listen as the phone rings.

It’s only two rings before you hear the change in sound that indicates the phone’s been answered. There’s no one speaking but you know without a doubt that Misha is there and that he’s waiting for you.

“Hey.” You say softly.

“Hey.” Misha echos your words, his voice a twisted myriad of tension and hope.

“How are you?” You ask, not sure what else to say.

“I’m okay.” Misha says but he doesn’t sound terribly convincing. “How about you? You sound better than you did last night.”

“I’m...okay. Head still hurts a little. Won’t be drinking tequila again any time soon.” You say with a half hearted laugh.

When you hear Misha’s soft chuckle in your ear, something releases inside of you and you find yourself flooded with warmth and relief at the sound.

The tears that you feel on your cheeks are a surprise though and are perhaps what spurs you into the verbal diarrhea.

“Misha I’m so sorry. I didn’t even think about how unfair I was to you. I just let myself get lost and then I panicked and I was stupid and immature and I didn’t think...I thought...I mean I figured you were just gonna move on like we said. This thing...it wasn’t any big thing, you...we...were just having some fun…”

You run out of steam and you wait, frustrated that you’re pretty sure you made as much sense now as you did last night. Misha’s quiet for so long that you begin to wonder if he hung up on you. Then you hear him clear his throat before he speaks, his voice strained.

“You think...is that really what you think? It can’t be. You _have_ to know.”

“I don’t...know what?” You ask, completely confused.

“You have to know that I love you.”


	2. Surprise!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Now that Misha's dropped that little bomb in your lap you need to try and put together enough brain cells together to figure out the big question. What the hell does this mean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took so long guys! I swear I didn't mean to leave y'all hanging. 
> 
> Thanks as always to @daydreamdestiel for being an awesome Beta and for continuing to encourage me when I'm frustrated and ready to give up. Have y'all read her stuff? Cause you should.

You sit in silence as your brain tries to process what it just heard. Unfortunately time doesn’t seem to be aiding in that process at all.

“I don’t under-...Misha what am I supposed to...what does that even  _ mean _ ?”

In the few seconds that follow the dichotomy of your thoughts and emotions is so intense it makes you dizzy; warmth and joy of what it means to be loved by and have a life with Misha clashes with sadness and fear of leaving everything that is your own life and giving up so much of yourself as Misha’s family is dismantled.

This isn’t your first time being involved in polyamorous relationships, nor is it the first time it involved more than just sex. You’d been incredibly close friends with some of your previous partners. But love? You aren’t even sure  _ what _ you want but you know that right now the sadness and fear is becoming the overwhelming emotion and you want to chalk that up to your usual doubt and overly cautious nature. Because who  _ wouldn’t  _ want to have that life. And yet, the realization that you don’t want to acknowledge is so simple and clear.

_ You _ don’t want it.

Your hurtling train of thoughts is derailed when you hear Misha chuckle softly.

“Breathe little girl. I can hear your internal dialogue all the way over here.”

You take a moment to do as you’re told.

“What does that mean?” You ask again, your voice steadier this time.

“It doesn’t mean anything, change anything. Well, other than the fact that I’m gonna need you to stop insinuating that you don’t mean anything to me other than a good lay and that it wouldn’t or shouldn’t hurt like hell to lose what we have.”

The fact that you know how amazing Misha is as an actor makes the small hitch in his voice hurt all the more. He could have easily suppressed it if he wanted to but instead he let himself be vulnerable, even after what you’d done and you find yourself wondering the same thought that often passed through your mind when Misha was involved. What the hell had you done to deserve this?

As the silence stretches out a little it occurs to you that there’s usually some sort of response that’s expected when someone tells you they love you. The scary thing is that when you stop to think about it there really isn’t any extensive consideration needed. You love Misha. It feels simple and clean and  _ right _ . And yet, those words don’t come out.

“I miss you.” You say, pushing down the voices that are telling you that isn’t what you really want to say.

“I’ve missed you too. I’m glad you called.” Misha says, his voice an odd mixture of relief and fatigue.

“So can I fix this?” You ask timidly.

When Misha hesitates you feel like a one ton stone just took residence in your stomach. When he speaks again, you don’t find relief.

“We can’t go back to the way things were. I get why you decided what you did and I don’t blame you, I promise you I don’t. But I can’t go on waiting for the next time things come crashing down.”

“Oh, yeah. I understand. Th..thank you for giving me a chance at least apolo-”

You aren’t able to get the rest of your stilted words out before Misha interrupts you.

“No! I’m not...I’m not ending things! I swear this is half our problem. You’re so determined that things aren’t gonna work, that you aren’t  _ good enough _ for...whatever this is, that you’re always waiting for it to end. This is your problem, you have no faith.”

The silence that follows is at least less awkward than the previous one.

“Did you...did you just-”

“Yes. Shut up.” Misha says, his voice a mixture of frustration and embarrassment.

You’re able to suppress the giggles for all of three seconds.

“I’m glad you think this is funny.” Misha says, his own voice tinged with suppressed laughter.

That only makes you laugh harder. Soon Misha is laughing too and just like that the tension breaks. It takes a couple of minutes for you both to calm down but when you do there’s a lightness to the conversation that wasn’t there before. There’s still tough stuff to discuss but the fear of things being over has left the both of you.

“So what is it you’re actually saying, Misha?” You ask when you’ve caught your breath.

“I’m saying something needs to change. I get the need for some sort of structure but too much just makes it that more likely that things will eventually break. With a little less they may just bend a little until we find our way again.”

“What kind of changes?” You ask cautiously.

“Obviously we both need to agree but the first one I’d like to change is the one day a week rule.” Misha barrels on when he hears you start to speak. “Now I’m not saying completely. Just texting. Nothing huge. The rest we can keep to weekly, phone calls...Skyping. It still loose enough to not totally take over life while taking away some of the pressure of our weekly date.”

Something pings in the back of your mind at the way that Misha almost stumbles when he mentions Skyping before rushing on to the next sentence but the fondness in his voice when he calls your weekly interactions a date has you pushing it away as a funny warmth fills you. It’s odd but you’ve never even really thought of them in that way before.

But still, you can’t get the image of yourself sitting around waiting for the next text as the world passes you by out of your head. When did you become so damn weak?

“I don’t kn-”

“No, that one isn’t negotiable.” Misha says almost harshly before his voice softens as he continues. “I know this isn’t about me. I  _ know _ you’re having a hard time trusting yourself right now. Please, I’m asking you to trust  _ me _ . Trust me until you finally get to the point where you can trust yourself again.”

Trusting Misha has never once been part of the problem.

“Okay.” You say, your voice so small that it’s a wonder Misha even heard it.

“Okay.” Misha echoes. “Next change...this rule you have about not letting me fly you out or set up-”

“No.” You interrupt Misha, no need to even have him finish to know what he’s getting at.

“But Nashville is still so far aw-”

“I said no Misha. You have your non-negotiable; I have mine.”

“Fine.” Misha says, the edge to his voice almost hiding the sadness...almost.

_ “But _ ...maybe I’ll pick up some extra shifts for a while and work on saving up for a flight myself.”

“Really?” Misha says, perking up.

You can’t help but smile at the excitement in his voice.

“Really.” You pause for a moment before continuing, “I’d like to make a change too.”

“Oh?” Misha says, surprise and a hint of trepidation tinging his voice. 

“Yeah. The whole if this isn’t working out for one of us we agree to walk away rule. I think it needs to be changed to if things aren’t working out then we talk first.”

Guilt starts to rear its ugly head again as silence fills the line. Both of you are well aware that your comments are self-aimed. It’s almost laughable for you to imagine Misha just up and ending things. Even if Vicki were to come to him right now and tell him she wanted to be monogamous, he would never just leave you hanging.

“Sounds good,” Misha says softly.

Just like that things move on.

Though not quite like they were before.

It takes you a whole day to figure out you should give Misha his own ringtone so that every notification doesn’t make you jump out of your skin. It takes you a few days to get to the point where you aren’t startled into forgetting to breathe every time the tone sounds.

Your first real test comes the very next day after your conversation with Misha. You’ve got to go to work and when you get there you sit for a moment to contemplate your phone. You  _ could _ sneak it in and only check it during bathroom breaks but getting caught would mean getting written up. 

This is the time to start on the right path. Instead you opt to shoot off a quick text.

_ Hey, I’m heading into work. Won’t have my phone for 8 hours. Hope your day is going well. _

You tuck your phone away into the center console of your car and head into work, a little bit of tension easing away. You know Misha doesn’t need you to tell him these things, but you know he won’t question it. He’ll see it for exactly what it is, proof for yourself that you can do this without losing yourself again.

Things settle back down pretty quickly. It doesn’t take long for the texting with Misha to start to feel like a normal occurrence. It’s never anything to mind blowing.  _ How was your day? _ and  _ Saw this and thought of you. _ Your weekly dates consist of phone calls and skype sessions. They’re more in depth with both of you able to devote your whole attention to the conversation.

The strange thing is, that’s all there is; conversations.

There is plenty of flirting over text, but nothing you wouldn’t say in front of friends. But the dates never amount to what they were before. When Misha suggested Skyping the first time you thought maybe he was interested in more than just talk but instead he ‘took you out’ to sit beside a stream and enjoy the peaceful setting while you talked.

Things go on like this for a month. Four dates and uncountable texts and not even a single attempt to get you naked. It’s not the lack of said interaction that starts to settle on you like a wet blanket, it's the general change in the relationship.

It’s after your fourth date since your temporary split that it hits you. You’re lying in bed filled with the happy buzzing glow that you get after spending time with Misha when it all comes together. Misha put himself out there, laid himself bare for you. Misha is probably feeling pretty damn vulnerable and unsure about exposing himself further. You know he wasn’t expecting anything from you and you weren’t in any way ready to say the words back to him.

But now?

You spend a couple of days trying to think of how best to put the two of you back on equal footing. Words just don’t seem like enough considering that when Misha said them there was a lot more risk involved considering the precariousness of your relationship at the time.

Ironically, much like what brought you and Misha together in the first place, it’s a tweet that helps you figure out what to do. One of your mutuals retweeted someone looking to sell their Saturday general admission seats for a con that was only a seven hour drive from you. The only problem is it’s next weekend. You’re scheduled to work next weekend.

Before you start stressing yourself out too much you’ve got a few things to check out. First, your bank account. Taking a peek at your account you know you can manage it. It’ll probably be a ramen for dinner kinda week after but you can live with that. Next up is a check to the website to see if Misha still has photo ops for sale. He does. Last up is a DM to the person looking to sell to make sure it’s still available. 

As you sit and wait for a response you can’t seem to stem the flow of nerves. Part of you is worried they may have already sold it. The other part is worried they haven’t but that this is still the wrong thing to do. Isn’t it just more of the same, messing with your life to make it fit around Misha? But it’s not. It’s  _ not.  _ If you can’t find someone to swap with you then you won’t do it. You aren’t calling out and losing hours or anything.

You aren’t even willing to acknowledge the voice in the back of your head that is saying it’s a bad idea because maybe Misha doesn’t  _ want _ you there, doesn’t  _ want _ you that way anymore. 

You’re so caught up in your thoughts that when your phone goes off to indication a notification from Twitter you almost drop your phone. Taking a deep breath you open the DM, still not entirely sure what answer you’re hoping for.

_ Yeah! Totally still available, you want it? I’ll even knock off the stupid handling fee. _

Okay then.

You’re already working the morning shift on Friday. If you can get someone working Sunday morning to swap with you then you just need to get one person to swap their day off and work Saturday. That one will take some doing and you are admittedly a little sad that you’ll have to leave early Sunday morning to get back for your shift but this means you’ll get to see Misha while still keeping things on track.

After about an hour of phone calls and a begrudgingly given promise to work for one coworker the next holiday they get scheduled, you find yourself with just enough time to get to the con and see Misha before having to come back for work. It’s insane and the amount of caffeine you’ll need to be able to drive fourteen hours in just a couple of days will be staggering. But it’s worth it if you can start to make things up to him.

Another half hour and you’ve made the exchange of money for ticket with a silent prayer that this person wasn’t a scammer. You’ve also procured a Misha photo op. The little voice in the back of your head forced you to contact a friend going to the con to see if she had floor space you could crash on. You told her that you were planning on driving home after the panels but wanted a backup in case you were too tired. In truth you wanted a backup because you wanted to make sure you had an out in case Misha showed any signs he didn’t really want to spend the night with you.

The next few days are probably the longest days of your life, even surpassing the days when you couldn’t get out of your own way because you were so despondent over ending things with Misha. You manage to get your crap packed and ready. The most nerve wracking part of the week comes Friday afternoon. You arranged to talk with Misha earlier in the day so that you could get to bed early. It’s a fairly short call because it comes in between takes but you can’t help but be grateful because much longer and you might spill the surprise.

It’s still dark out when you finish showering and getting ready for your trip. After the final touches on your makeup and hair you grab the last thing you need to pack off of it’s charger. You tuck the toy you’d picked up on a whim after Nashcon into one of the zippered pockets on the inside of your purse. The remote for it stays out so that you can place it in the small gift box. 

Writing the note to put into the box with the remote proves to be incredibly frustrating. You go through several drafts, scrapping ones that sounds too whiny and self conscious along with the ones that sound too demanding and without remorse. In the end, you keep it simple and to the point.

_ Misha, _

_ I thought this would be more to your liking then “I’m Sorry” flowers. The item it controls will be in place during your panel and I’ll be ready if you decide to make use of it.  _

You tuck the note into the box and put the box in your purse too. Your ticket printouts get folded up and placed along side the box. One last run down your mental checklist and you’re ready to go.

Planning a seven hour drive that starts at two in the morning is probably not one of your better ideas but Opening Ceremony starts at ten and you may be going to see Misha but it  _ is _ a convention for your favorite shows with all your favorite actors. Registration is also usually mobbed on Saturdays and Sundays so you want enough time to get through the line. The solution is can after can of Red Bull and a whole bunch of really loud music.

It’s surprising how quickly the trip goes. Might have something to do with the part of you that gets more and more nervous the closer you get. If pressed you might even admit to the fact that you almost turn around twice. 

Still, sooner than you’re ready for, you arrive at the convention hotel. You leave your overnight bag in the car and head in, stopping at the Starbucks in the lobby to get more caffeine. You’re starting to regret not getting a room because taking a nap while Misha is busy with autographs and whatnot sounds like a really good idea.

Registration actually goes by pretty quickly. Standing in the lobby the buzz of excitement and belonging starts to wash over you. You’re quickly sucked into conversation with strangers that aren’t strangers and before you know it you’re at the registration table getting your bracelet. As you settle in and watch the antics on stage the last bit of tension dissipates. The truth is Misha may or may not be interested in what you’re offering right now, but regardless the fact that you’ll be able to see him, talk to him, face to face and not face to screen to face, makes it worth it.

Still, you’re a little surprised at how calm you are when they call up your number batch for Misha’s photo op. After you slip the box into your pocket with your op ticket you sling your purse over your arm and head up to the op room. As you wait in line you keep yourself calm by replaying Misha’s words in your mind. He loves you. 

When you make it to the door of the op room and first lay eyes on Misha the joy you feel is almost physically painful. He’s every bit as beautiful as you remember and seeing him without the filter of a lens only makes it more apparent. You can’t take your eyes off him as you set your purse on the table to the side of the door.

Your breath truly stops though the moment his eyes land on you, about seven people away from the front of the line. The first emotion that you see in his eyes is a touch of confusion. It quickly morphs into recognition though. Your heart feels like it swells to twice the size though when the recognition turns to pure joy.

That all happens in a matter of seconds but it’s all it takes to know that you are absolutely where you should be. Now the only nerves you feel are those of anticipation. The line moves on and soon you’re handing your ticket to the volunteer. Another breath and then it’s your turn.

You slowly walk forward until you’re just out of arm's reach, those crystalline blue eyes practically wrapping you in warmth and excitement.

“Hey, Misha.” You say softly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come visit me at http://spnbrennafae.tumblr.com/
> 
> I know this is a short chapter and a little light on content but I wanted to resolve some stuff and the next bit is gonna be a bit involved as far as the writing goes and I didn't want to make you wait any longer for an update.
> 
> Please please please, I live for your comments!


	3. Poor Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see how Misha responds to your 'gift' and whether or not poor Jim still has a job by the end of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this one took longer than I promised. I was not in a great place to write this week. Then by the end of the week I realized what I needed to do most at this moment was to put some positivity out there and, if I'm lucky, make a few people smile. It's what Misha would do.
> 
> Here is the toy that is being used
> 
> http://we-vibe.com/we-vibe-classic

For the span of a breath the world around you stops, everything disappears except for the man in front of you. The man who hasn’t touched you in months, but whose fingerprints are still etched into the molecules of your skin. The man who on a whim checked Twitter one early morning and ended up turning your entire world upside down. The man who told you a month ago that he loved you.

The man who’s telling you the same thing right now without saying a word.

The shift in Misha’s gaze breaks whatever spell held you. He glances just over your shoulder which is the only warning you have before there’s a gentle nudge on the back of your shoulder. A quick look behind you reminds you that you’re actually here for a reason and you give a sheepish smile to the volunteer that’s kindly encouraging you to move closer for the picture before you step in towards Misha.

To your surprise Misha puts his hands on your forearms, for all the world looking like he’s leaning in to hear whatever pose you’re requesting, and presses gently to maneuver you closer while turning you slightly away from the line and more importantly the camera. It takes a moment to remember the little trick you’ve used yourself of making sure your back is to the camera to prolong your time. Then you realize Misha is gearing up to talk and frankly you’re wound so tight right now with mixed emotions that you wouldn’t be surprised if just his voice this close and  _ real _ made you start sobbing. So instead you cut him off.

“I’d just like a hug.” You say loud enough for the people closest to you to hear.

You watch as Misha’s expression shifts from happy to confusion and maybe just a little bit of hurt. You hold his gaze long enough to wink and smile at him, which doesn’t erase the confusion but does bring the happy back. Then you do your best to  _ not _ look like you’re throwing yourself into his arms, even though that’s exactly what it looks like.

For a moment your senses are so overwhelmed you can’t think straight. The familiarity of his scent and touch slams you back to the last time Misha held you before saying goodbye. All at once you’re torn between laughing with joy and breaking down into soul wrenching sobs when you realize it’s going to be much harder to say goodbye this time.

Instead you just let yourself be wrapped in Misha’s warmth, forgetting everything but him for just a moment. Then you turn your face toward the camera and smile for Chris. The camera flashes and you go to move back but feel Misha’s arms tighten around you as you feel his lips press against your forehead.

“I promise I’m not gonna try and run away this time but you’re gonna have to let me go at some point. I’ll be at your panel. You won’t be able to see me, but I’ll be watching you.” You whisper into Misha’s chest with a chuckle.

You hear a sigh and feel the tension in Misha’s arms release. Sliding mostly out of his embrace, one of his hands still resting on your arm, you reach into your pocket and pull out the little white box.

“Besides, you’ll need to finish up here if you want to open your present.” You say with a smirk as you press the box into Misha’s hand.

Misha quirks an eyebrow at you but doesn’t say anything as he tucks the box into the inner pocket of his jacket. You’re having a hard time breaking eye contact and it doesn’t look like Misha is planning to do so himself any time soon. Thankfully the spell’s broken when the volunteer waiting on the other side steps forward to usher you along.

Now all you’ve got left to do is wait. There’s a break between now and Misha’s panel so you head back to Starbucks for another caffeine fix. Even though the anticipation has your nerves practically singing, you can still feel the drag on your body from being awake for so long already.

The line at Starbucks is insanely long, filled with people that likely stayed up too late for karaoke and had the same thought as you. You’re still in line when your phone goes off, about thirty minutes after you left Misha. 

Hearing Misha’s tone sets off a whole new pulse of electricity along your nerves. You’re certain from his reaction that he’s happy to see you but that doesn’t mean that he’s happy about your ‘gift’ or interested in what it implies about your visit. You pull up the text and don’t find any clarity.

_ Where are you? _

As the line moves a whole person you type out a response.

_ In a never ending line at Starbucks. _

You haven’t moved when your phone goes off again.

_ Wait there for Jim. _

Well that wasn’t any of the possible responses you’d come up with. If you didn’t know Misha’s panel was starting in less than twenty minutes you’d think maybe Jim was going to bring you to see him. 

After you grab your coffee you stand just outside the exit of the Starbucks and look out over the lobby to watch for Jim, doing your best to look casual as you drink your coffee. It’s only about a minute later that you spot him walking around a small group of people heading back to the main hall. He’s looking at his phone and then looking up to scan the faces of the people around him as he goes. You consider waving him down but don’t really want to draw anyone else’s attention.

Thankfully it doesn’t take long before Jim’s eyes land on you. He glances back down at his phone before walking purposefully toward you. When he gets to you he reaches up to grasp your hand. You’re surprised but don’t resist, settling only for giving Jim a questioning look.

When he breaks your wristband, however, you do pull your arm back suddenly. For a heartstopping moment you think that Misha sent Jim to tell you to leave, taking your band to insure you had to.

“Sorry, he told me to do that otherwise you might not take this.” Jim said as he shifted uncomfortably before reaching into his pocket.

You didn’t need to ask which he Jim was talking about.

The fear of rejection fades you as you watch Jim pull a new band and a lanyard out of his pocket. You narrow down your eyes as he wraps the new band around your wrist before he hands you the lanyard. When you see the seat number on the badge starts with A you open your mouth to start to protest but Jim quickly cuts you off.

“He also told me to tell you that he didn’t pay for this. It’s one of the seats reserved for the auction that didn’t sell. So you can’t give him shit for it. His words, not mine.” Jim says with a smile before continuing on. “I’ve gotta head back and get him to his panel.”

Jim turns and walks away, the whole exchange lasting less than two minutes. A glance around shows you that no one really seemed to notice the exchange. As you’re scanning the faces around you Jim’s last words register. Misha’s panel. It’s starting soon and you need to get to the bathroom asap. You take off at your best speed walk and manage to get back to the bathroom near the main hall with just a few minutes to go.

Thankfully the bathroom is mostly cleared out as people are settled into their seats to wait for Misha. You find yourself having flashbacks to the last time you sat in a stall holding a toy that you were preparing to slide inside yourself. This time though there are no impromptu holes in your clothes or cords to wrangle. There is also absolutely no way for you to control what happens. Once you slide the toy between your folds you’ve got no way to turn it down or off when Misha decides to start. You’ll be completely at his mercy.

God damn if just the thought of that doesn’t make you wet.

You lift your skirt up and slip a finger inside your pantyless folds to test for wetness and aren’t surprised that you won’t be needing the pocket lube you brought along just in case. Taking the vibrator out of your purse, you run it along the wetness to slick up both sides. 

Then you slide in the g-spot stimulator and the clit stimulator settles naturally against the bundle of nerves. You can’t stop the whimper that slips out just from the touch of it and wonder, not for the first time, if you’re going to be able to keep quiet during the panel.

Time’s running low though, so there’s no second or third guessing. You drop your skirt back down and wiggle experimentally to make sure the toy’s settled firmly in place. You find you’ve got to clench just a little for your own peace of mind but it seems to be staying put. After you wash your hands, you head to the main hall, flashing your new lanyard at the volunteer as you go.

Even though you know that no one’s looking at you and questioning whether you belong there or not you still keep your eyes down as you find your seat. It’s front row and near the left side of the stage in the center section. You’re just settling into your seat when your phone goes off with Misha’s tone. The first thing you do is set your phone to vibrate. Then you open the message.

_ If it gets to be too much for you cross your legs. I’ll stop as soon as I see it, I promise. _

At least now you know without a doubt that he’s accepted your gift.

A strange sort of calm settles over you as the house lights dim and Rob and Rich come back out on stage with the rest of Louden Swain. There’s still the same nervousness mixed with the buzz of excitement at the thought that you’re completely surrounded by people that could catch on to what’s happening at any moment. But the fear isn’t there. 

Sure, you absolutely don’t want to be caught because your embarrassment level would be high. But you have exactly zero doubts that Misha would protect you completely and without accepting any argument from the convention runners.  

You have no warning when the vibrations kick in as Rob and Rich are warming up the audience. They hadn’t even started with Misha’s intro music. Thankfully the audience was laughing loudly at that moment so your surprised gasp is quickly swallowed up by the sound of the audience. Your phone vibrates against your leg where you’re holding it and you pull up the message.

_ You didn’t  _ really _ think I was going to wait til you were expecting it, did you? _

That little shit.

Even worse, is he makes  _ you _ wait. The band gets through Angel and a couple of rounds of Where’s Misha before he finally graces the stage and by the smirk on his face you can tell his delay was entirely intentional. It’s effective too. The damn vibrator may still be on the lowest setting but the anticipation seemed to have magnified its effect and you’re already trying your best not to squirm.

Evidently Misha hasn’t forgotten the last time he was in this situation because as soon as the band has left the stage and Misha has waved at the audience he grabs the stool and spins it around. 

“Man it’s hot up here!” Misha says before he starts taking off his jacket.

Thankfully the crowd starts cheering as if Misha just stripped down to his skivvies instead of just taking off his jacket because as he hangs his coat on the back of the stool with the hand holding the mic his other hand slips into his pocket. With that little warning you’re unable to suppress the rather loud whimper that escapes as the vibrations at your core intensify.

You fight hard to keep yourself as still as possible as you start to feel the curls of pleasure intensifying low in your belly. It doesn’t help that as Misha takes his seat straddling the stool, his lower region smartly hidden behind his jacket, his eyes sweep the front row until they land on you. It didn’t escape your notice that when Misha had turned the chair he’d also cheated it more toward your side of the stage.

Misha locks eyes with you briefly and you can’t miss the heat that’s dancing in them. Any latent concern that Misha didn’t want this, didn’t want  _ you _ , is burned away in an instant. You swallow hard as Misha breaks eye contact and goes on to addressing the audience. 

Taking a few steadying breaths you do your best to focus on staying still and after three questions you’ve almost managed a zen like state, the vibrations and pleasure almost fading into the background.

Of course that’s about the time that Misha’s eyes move across the audience before landing on you with a grin. You don’t even have to look away from his face to know that his hand is snaking back into his pocket. You brace for an increase in vibrations, biting down on your bottom lip almost to the point of drawing blood, but Misha still manages to throw you off by changing the pattern instead of intensity. Now the vibrations are coming in waves, reducing to almost nothing before gradually increasing to the previous peak. 

You find yourself having to fight to find that zen as the new pattern doesn’t give you much time to become accustomed. The tension in your body is starting to mount and you can feel the wetness pooling at your thighs. 

It feels like both an eternity and just a matter of moments since Misha first came on stage but a glance at the phone you’ve got clutched in your hand so tightly that it’s digging lines into your skin shows you that Misha’s almost done. Which is good because so are you. The orgasm that’s been building for the last five minutes is threatening to peak. 

Rich, Rob and the band are coming back on stage.

_ I can make it _ you think as you fight off the tremors that try to shake you to pieces.

Misha’s answering the last question.

_ So close,  _ you think as you grip the fabric of your dress with your free hand while gritting your teeth to hold back the moan.

Misha scans the audience before his eyes land on you as he finishes his answer. Rob’s talking but all you see are blue eyes pinning to your seat. 

As the band begins to play and the audience erupts in cheers the vibrations suddenly switch to the steady constant with the intensity increasing. There’s no more holding back. Wave after wave of white hot pleasure courses through you as a loud whimper escapes. 

It’s quickly swallowed up the noise of the crowd as Misha waves goodbye. His eyes leave you every so often but they quickly return and you never look away. Each time your eyes meet the orgasm pulses again until finally Misha, jacket held strategically in front of what is likely an impressive tent, exits the stage. 

As he does the vibrations slowly decrease until they stop all together. You’re left to try and compose yourself as the lights come up and people begin to exit.

It’s only moments later that your phone buzzes in your hand.

_ I know this remote. Vicki and I have this toy. This is the kind that you can keep in while I fuck you. _

Followed quickly by:

_ Go find Jim. _

You stand on shaky legs and carefully wrap the sweater you brought for just this purpose around your waist to hide the wet spot you know has soaked into the back of your skirt. Picking up your purse, you head to the nearest exit. For a moment you’re completely lost. The post orgasm haze is making it hard to focus and there are so many people milling about the lobby. 

By some miracle you’re able to come up with the thought that you should move to the edge of the crowd and check the exits. Sure enough you see Jim standing by the door that leads to the hall which runs the length of the backstage area. 

You move slowly, both because you’re still unsteady on your feet and because the slick from your orgasm is causing you to fear for the secure placement of the vibrator between your legs.

It’s this last though that has you blushing and unable to meet Jim’s eyes when you get to him. He doesn’t seem to mind and merely places a hand on your arm to guide you quickly through the door and down the hall. Thankfully the way’s clear of people.

“Misha wanted me to warn you that you’ll be going through the green room but he’s made sure there aren’t any volunteers in there. As for his co-workers, he said to just ignore them.” Jim says. 

You’re about to protest when you find yourself gently pushed through a door that was sitting slightly ajar. Several sets of eyes turn to you as you skid to a stop with a squeak of protest. Looking around you see Kim, Rich, Rob, Billy, Stephen, Mike and Matt all sitting around the room, their stares firmly affixed to you.

“There you are!” Misha’s voice comes from just to the right of the open door where he must have been waiting for you. “I’ve got about ten minutes, let’s go talk about that project you wanted to tell me about.”

You have just enough time to see the looks on people’s faces and see that they aren’t buying a word of what Misha says before Misha practically drags you towards a door near the back of the room. For a frightening moment you feel the toy slip as you’re unable to control your movements but thankfully a hard squeeze of your muscles is enough to settle it back into place just as you’re rather forcefully pushed through the door. 

The room’s clearly some sort of changing area. There are chairs scattered around and a long counter goes across one wall with mirrors running along it. That and the sound of the lock being turned is all you register before you’re being whipped around and yanked into Misha’s chest.

The kissing would probably be pretty painful with how hard Misha crashes into you if the feeling of his lips against yours after so long wasn’t drowning out every sensation other than intense pleasure. You barely even feel the bite of the counter as the two of you fall against it right before Misha grips just below your ass to lift you onto it.

“Normally,” Misha says against your lips before moving on to kiss and taste every inch of your lips, jaw and neck, “I wouldn’t be the asshole that just jumps right into fucking.” Misha pauses long enough to suck an earlobe between his teeth before biting down gently “But considering the fact that I just saw you get off,” He scrapes his teeth along your jaw before moving to lick softly at your pulse. “And that I feel like if I don’t get inside you right now I might die,” Misha pulls away and glares at you briefly when you snort at his dramatics before finishing “I hope you don’t mind if I skip the niceties and just fuck you like I haven’t fucked you in months, cause I haven’t and I need that to change immediately.”

Grinning you lean back, sliding your skirt up and exposing your pantyless state to Misha’s hungry eyes. You don’t miss the hitching of his breath as he realizes you were even more exposed for him out there in the audience than he knew.

“Condoms are in my bag.” You say with a smirk, nodding to indicate where your bag had been dropped when you were grabbed.

You try very hard not to giggle at how quickly Misha dashes for the bag or how frantically he searches it, knowing his propensity for punishing you when you laugh at less than appropriate times. Misha’s little victory wiggle when he finds what he’s after nearly breaks your resolve but you sober up quickly when his eyes lock onto yours. 

As he moves toward you, maintaining eye contact, you hear the sound of a zipper. When he grips the package of the condom between his teeth and rips it open you can’t help but whimper.

Misha stops just in front of you just long enough for what you assume is to roll on the condom before sliding between your spread legs. The rough denim of the jeans he hadn’t bothered to pull down against your bare skin has you shivering and fresh arousal spikes through you.

When Misha reaches up with both hands to grip your face on either side you’re not quite sure what to expect. Then he speaks, his gaze intense and his voice is low and dark.

“You’re going to have to be very  _ very _ quiet for me little girl. Not a sound. The door isn’t very sound proof and I can tell they’re all being very quiet out there. Can you do that for me?”

Wordlessly you nod, not entirely trusting your own voice and feeling like now is a good time to start with the whole being quiet thing. Misha smiles as one hand drops to position his cock against your dripping wet folds, nudging gently against the soft silicone of the toy. The other slides to grip the back of your neck.

“That’s my good girl. Let’s say, one spanking for every sound?” Misha grins wickedly at you.

Swallowing hard as you nod again, you’re surprised to feel the familiar coil of heat in your belly so soon after getting off. It only intensifies when Misha leans in to brush his lips against the sensitive skin over your pulse. He seems to hesitate.

“Can I?” he murmurs against your skin.

It takes you a moment to connect the dots but then you remember the last time you were together, how careful you had to be. The fact that Misha was asking to mark you, intentionally in a spot that isn’t hidden by your clothes, has you almost dizzy. You don’t have to think hard, there isn’t any spotlight on this con and very few people even know you’re here. You open your mouth to answer but then remember his instruction and decide to nod instead.

You feel Misha’s lips curl into a smile before his whispers “Good girl.”

Misha’s hand drops from the back of your neck and three things happen at once; the vibrations of the toy kick back on at its highest intensity, Misha thrusts into you, hilting in a single motion, and pleasure-pain lights up your body as Misha sucks in the sensitive skin of your throat while biting down almost hard enough to break skin but not quite.

You’re still pliant from your earlier orgasm but the little time that’s passed added to the extra press of the toy inside you causes just enough stretch and burn as Misha fills you to add to the intense heat lighting you up.

In your defense all of that combined would be hard for anyone to take silently so you can’t really be blamed for the cry that escapes your lips. Even Misha lets out a soft grunt as he bottoms out. 

Still, you’re unsurprised when Misha’s lips leave your neck and brush against your ear to whisper as he begins thrusting. Your hands fly up from the counter that they’ve been gripping and curl around the back of Misha’s next, where your fingers bury themselves in his soft, very dishevelled, hair

“That’s one.”

“Fuck.”

_ Thrust _

“You.”

_ Thrust _

“Hmm, I think I’m calling that two and three.” Misha’s smug voice quickly changes to what sounds like shame as he continues to rock fast and hard into you. “This may be over embarrassingly quick, please remember I’ve been hard for the past forty five minutes and don’t have the benefit of having just come.”

You’re about to make a poor decision about cracking a joke at Misha’s expense, he deserves it for the teasing and intentionally making you break his no sound rule, but then he presses in just right, causing the toy vibrating against your clit and gspot to shift. Instead all that comes out is a choked out moan.

Misha pulls away just enough to lock eyes with you. The dangerous glint in his eyes quickly shifts to something else entirely. The mix of desire, love and awe that fills them is enough to push you over the edge. You bite down hard on your bottom lip to suppress the cry that’s trying to rip out of you. Your fingers tighten in Misha’s hair as your body shakes with your second orgasm in less than twenty minutes. 

“Four.” Misha manages a strangled whisper as his pace picks up when you tighten around him, drawing out your orgasm until you’re practically boneless in arms that you hadn’t noticed wrapped around you before.

Misha’s entire body tenses when a knock at the door sounds.

“We’ve got to head to photo ops now Misha.” Jim’s voice is muffled but you can hear the apology in his voice.

Misha slumps against you briefly before starting to pull away. Without thinking you wrap your legs around his hips and grab tightly onto the fabric of his shirt so that he can’t move further.

“No Misha...please…” you beg, your voice barely above a whisper, a small amount of shame as you feel tears prickle at the corner of your eyes “I need...please come for me Misha.”

With a groan, his eyes rolling back as they close, Misha thrusts back into you. Once. Twice. Three times. You feel his arms tense around you as you feel the warmth of the condom filling. After a brief moment of stillness Misha pulls back enough to place a soft kiss on your swollen lips before slipping out of you and away. He removes and disposes of the condom and tucks himself back into his pants before he gently removes the vibrator from your overly stimulated core. He sets it aside and pulls down your skirt before helping you down.

“Take as long as you need, there’s a bathroom through that door.” Misha says, indicating the door at the back of the room. He pulls his wallet out to remove his room key and hands it to you “I’ll text you as soon as I’m done for the night.”

Misha turns to walk to the door before he pauses and turns back.

“That’s another one, by the way. As much as I enjoy hearing you beg for me to come I  _ did _ say not a sound.”

Misha winks as you narrow your eyes at him before he slips out the door.

You take a few minutes to clean up before heading for the door. You’re still a little hazy post sex which is probably why you don’t think to be cautious as you swing the door open and walk through.

When you find yourself staring back at Stephanie, the very surprised Creation higher up, you freeze in place. She takes you in, glancing at the lanyard around your neck before her surprise shifts to anger.

“What the hell are you doing back here?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay smut! Figured you deserved it after all the angst XD
> 
> As always I live for your comments!
> 
> Come visit me over on tumblr. http://spnbrennafae.tumblr.com/


	4. So Close, So Many Obstacles.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happens when you've been caught by the convention staff where you aren't supposed to be? With Misha off working, whose gonna help you outta this jam. More importantly, are you ever gonna get back to Misha?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you as always to my lovely Beta @DaydreamDestiel for not only her usual tasks but for also reassuring my as I struggled through this last chapter. Seemed like every time I tried something didn't work out but she kept me positive. <3

For a moment all you can do is stand there in stunned silence. You try to formulate thoughts, remember what Misha had told the other people in the room but even if you can get it out will Stephanie believe you without Misha here? Or will you be booted from the con and banned for life? As she watches you expectantly you realize you’ve got to say  _ something. _

“I-”

“She’s with me. She’s working on a Wayward project and since she was gonna be here for the con I figured we could steal a few minutes when I had some down time. She just needed to use the restroom then we were gonna go hang out in the meet and greet room to talk since it’s empty.” Kim says from her spot on the couch.

Stephanie looks back and forth between the two of you a couple of times before her expression clears.

“Okay then! Sorry about that sweetie, you caught me off guard. Wouldn’t be the first time we had an excited fan sneak in.” Stephanie says with a smile before she turns and heads out of the room.

You’re still standing there slightly stunned when you feel a hand nudge your elbow. Looking to your right you see that Kim’s gotten up and walked over to you. She gently leads you out into the hall. When you’re through the door and you see the hall is clear you turn to Kim to thank her and say goodbye. You don’t get a single word out before she’s cutting you off.

“Oh no. We’re still gonna talk, let’s go missy.” Kim says as she leads you down the hall to the empty meet and greet room.

Kim waits at least long enough to get your name before she starts. You weren’t sure exactly what to expect but concern for you probably wasn’t high on that list.

“Sweetie, I don’t mind covering for you but I wanna make sure you’re okay with whatever’s going on here.” Kim says softly, holding your gaze.

“I don’t understand...what...what do you think is going on here?” you ask, trying to follow her thinking. 

“Look Misha’s a great guy and he would never dream of setting out to hurt someone. Gotta admit, him hooking up with a fan at a con is pretty much unheard of.” Kim says, and you’re starting to get an idea of where this is going. “But he’s human. I just wanna make sure you’re good in all this. I get it, he’s smart and handsome and famous and ridiculously kind. It wouldn’t be like him to take advantage of a fan like-”

“Kim. Stop. It’s not…” You gather your thoughts to try and figure out how to put this. “I came to the con today specifically to see Misha.”

“Oh I get it sweetie, he’s a lot of people’s favorites.” Kim says with a wink. “No offense taken.”

“No, that’s not what I…” You pause to take a deep breath before you barrel on. “I came today to spend time  _ with _ Misha...because we’re kinda...together? Have been since we met in Nashville.”

“Oh!” Kim says before understanding spreads across her face. “Oh! It’s you! You were the mystery girl that he was spotted with! You guys have been together this whole time?”

“Yeah...kinda. I mean mostly. I mean there was a little while…” you trail off as you realize you’ve let yourself get comfortable, what is it about Kim that makes that feel so natural? And you’re about to give more information than you intended.

“Yeah, what ha-” Kim cuts herself off as something clicks “It was you.”

You shift uncomfortably in your seat.

“We thought maybe he and Vicki were fighting or something. He was so...not Misha...at the con and from what I heard it didn’t change once he was on set.”

Your cheeks color with shame as you study your hands intently.

“Oh honey, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot. I shouldn’t- Look if it means anything the next convention we did together he was the happiest I’d ever seen him.” Kim says, grasping your hand.

Thinking back on it, it doesn’t take long for you to remember when the next con was. It was the weekend after you and Misha made up.

You’re about to speak again when you feel your phone vibrate. Excusing yourself you pull it out and check. You’ve got a message from Misha.

_ Rob just texted me, said you got busted and now Kim’s holding you hostage? Need a rescue? I can ditch these ops for a few and drag you away. _

“Wow.”

You look up at the breathless exclamation. Kim’s staring at you with a funny little smile.

“What?” you asked, confused.

“You’re really gone, huh?” Kim asks with a soft smile.

“I don’t…” you trail off shaking your head, your confusion growing.

“It’s him, right? Your face, your body, everything changed when you saw who it was. You really love him don’t you?”  Kim’s face drifted from happy to concerned by the time she paused. “You...you know he and Vicki are-”

“Kim.” You interrupt, firm but without anger. “I love what Misha and Vicki have. And yes, I love Misha. I don’t have any expectations beyond what he can give me and he’s the same. I have no delusions that Misha’s gonna leave his family for me, nor would I want him to.”

“Okay then.” Kim says with a nod. “Look I’m not gonna pretend to get it. But clearly you know what you’re getting into and if his behaviour is any indication he feels the same as you do. So I’m gonna release you from captivity now. Gimme your phone.”

You look up at Kim, who had stood up as she made her demand. When you just stared she shook her extended hand to reiterate. Not entirely sure what she’s going to do but even less sure of what she’ll do if you refuse you hand your phone over.

“There.” She says as she types. “I texted myself. If that man ever screws up you let me know so I can kick his ass.”

She hands the phone back and starts for the door.

“I doubt you’ll hear from me then.” You say looking at the floor trying not to think about who the one that screws up is. “He’s pretty damn near perfect.”

“Well then maybe just text me once in awhile to say hi.” Kim says with a grin before turning and walking out of the door.

It suddenly occurs to you that you never responded to Misha. Pulling up the text box you type out a reply.

_ I’m good, just a little girl talk.Tell you about it later. Get back to work so I can steal you away. _

Grabbing your purse you stick your head out into the hallway to make sure it’s clear before dashing for the lobby. When you hit the lobby and feel yourself sucked into the crowds you start to rethink your plan of hanging out here until Misha’s done. Panels are done for the day and pure exhaustion is beginning to overtake you. Misha should be just about done his ops with Mark but then he would only have a short break before his autos. 

Thankfully autos are slightly earlier this convention. Misha had mentioned earlier this week that they were testing out some schedule changes to give the talent that was performing at the concert some down time. He’d agreed to come in a little earlier if he couldn’t fly in the night before so his whole schedule could shift slightly that way his panel, which was always the last of the day, could start earlier. 

Unfortunately this weekend Mark hadn’t been able to come in early so they still had to do their duo op after but there weren’t as many of those and with Mark’s reputation for less than enthusiastic consent regarding the more extravagant op prompts people rarely get more than a quick hug.

Making your mind up you scan the crowd nearest you. You spot a teenage girl sporting a general admission bracelet and looking around a little lost in the crowd. You remember that feeling from your first con. The family at the convention is always welcoming to newcomers but sometimes it’s hard to take that first step when you’re a painful introvert. You walk up to stand beside her before speaking.

“First con?” you ask, careful to keep scanning the crowds and not making eye contact with the girl.

You see her take you in out of the corner of your eye but give her a moment to decide if she wants to engage or not. She must decide you aren’t here to kill her because her body language becomes much more relaxed.

“Yeah.” She says softly.

“Having fun?” You ask, trying to draw out more of a response.

“Yeah, it’s great. There’s just...lots of people.” She answers with an amazed shake of her head. “I was supposed to come with a friend but she ended up backing out.”

“That sucks. But look, all those people out there? They’re all about making new friends.” She nods absently but some of the nerves have left her eyes. “Hey, you got any autos?”

“No,” She says with a frown. “Didn’t have enough after I got my ticket. My friend and I were gonna try and split a Misha op but…”

“Bummer...hey, do you think you could do me a favor?” You ask, trying to affect a casual tone.

“Umm...maybe?” The girl answers hesitantly.

“Look I’ve got all these autos I was supposed to get,” You start as you pull your lanyard from around your neck. “But something’s come up and I have to leave now. I’d hate to have them all go to waste. Do you think you might be able to get them instead?”

She stares at the badge in your hand as if you’re holding the answers to the universe. Tentatively she starts to reach for it, almost as if she expects you to yank it back and laugh at her for believing you. When you don’t she plucks it from your hand and turns it over and over, looking at it like it might disappear. 

“I don’t...I don’t have any money-”

“Oh no! Not even remotely what I’m after. It was a gift anyway.” You say with a reassuring smile.

“Do you...do you want to give me your address so I can mail the autographs to you?” She asks as she continues to stare at the pass.

“Oh, I’ve got plenty...more than I know what to do with.” A little white lie isn’t gonna hurt here but then something occurs to you. “But you know what, you’re gonna need something to get signed. Here” You dig out a ten dollar bill. “They’ve got photos in the vendor room. Grab yourself one of those to get signed.”

You stuff the ten in the hand holding the badge before you start moving into the crowd.

“Wait, no! I can’t...I don’t even know your name!” She starts saying frantically as the people between you starts increasing.

“Have a good time and welcome to the family!” You shout over some heads before turning to get pulled along with the crowd to the exit of the lobby.

When you’ve finally broken free from the crowd you head out to your car to grab your bag. You’re about to head back into the hotel when something occurs to you. The logo on little paper carrier that Misha’s room keycard was in doesn’t match the one at this hotel. You pull it out and check and sure enough the name on it’s not the same hotel.

Of course it isn’t. This is a smaller con, not like Nashville where the con was already at the best hotel in the area and covered enough square footage that the actors could be put up without any fear that they’d be found by fans. Thankfully all it takes is a quick search of the area on your phone and you’ve managed to locate the hotel.

You’re about halfway there when you realize you never told Misha you were leaving the convention. As soon as you pull into the parking lot you pull out your phone and shoot off a text to Misha. Then you send one to your friend to let her know you’re not gonna be staying the night in her room. You leave it vague enough that she should be able to assume that you just decided to drive home without actually having to lie to her.

Creeping around the hotel looking for the right room you half expect someone to jump out of the closest door, point at you, and yell stalker. You’d left your lanyard and bracelet in the car but still felt like there was a sign around your neck.

When your phone buzzes in your pocket you let out a yelp that would have been embarrassing if anyone else had been in the hall at the time. You pull out your phone and check your messages.

_ Just finished ops with Mark. Quick break, then autos. Should be done by 7:30 if we start right on time at five. Make yourself comfortable. There’s a mini fridge in the room if you’re hungry, help yourself. It’s on Creation. _

Feeling yourself settle a little you resume your walk towards the room number on Misha’s card. No one knows who you are. You’re supposed to be here. No one is or will be questioning that. Breathing a sigh of relief when you finally find the right room you slide the card and let yourself in.

You give yourself a moment to take the room in, fairly standard king size room with a sliding door that leads to a balcony which you assume looks over the pool area with the gardens surrounding it. There’s a large wooden entertainment center with a flat screen tv, drawers, and a cupboard door that you assume is hiding the mini fridge. At first you’re surprised that there isn’t a single personal item but then it occurs to you that if Misha came in as early as he said he was coming in then he was probably driven straight to the convention.

You opt for eating the granola bar you’ve got stashed in your bag when you realize that you’ve ingested nothing but caffeine all day. Washing it down with a bottle of water you go through your bag contemplating your next step. You’ve got the lingerie you’d worn for Misha over Skype packed but it’s still almost three hours until Misha’ll be back. Putting those aside for now you opt to make use of Misha’s shower. It’d been a long time since your last one and there’d been seven hours in a car, sitting in a crowd through multiple panels and vigorous sex since then. All that certainly calls for another shower.

You gleefully use up half of the complimentary toiletries while luxuriating under the hot spray. Misha’s seen you enough without makeup now that you don’t even bother with avoiding messing it up, choosing to scrub your face clean instead. 

Once the tension and achy muscles caused to your body by the abuses of the day have washed down the drain you dry yourself off and rudely choose to steal the big fluffy robe hanging on the back of the door. It’s so soft and warm that Misha’s gonna have to pry it from your cold dead fingers if he wants to use it.

Checking the time when you get out of the bathroom, you see that you still have almost two hours until Misha will be on his way over. You manage to run a comb through your hair before exhaustion really slams into you. Eyeballing the soft bed that you’re sitting on you decide to grab another towel from the bathroom to cover the pillow before laying down.

Just gonna rest your eyes for a few minutes…

Something soft brushes along your face. It starts again at the crown of your head and travels down your hair. Your  _ dry  _ hair.

You manage to blink your eyes open and find yourself staring through blurry vision at the most gorgeous blue eyes on the planet.

“Hey beautiful.” Misha says softly as he trails his fingers through your hair.

It takes you a moment to realize he’s kneeling beside the bed...that you evidently fell asleep on.

“What time is it?” You ask groggily as you sit up.

“Almost eight.” He says as he straightens to stand.

“Shoot,” you say, pouting. “I had this whole plan, I brought lingerie and everything. I was gonna be waiting here on the bed all...all sexy-like and stuff.”

Misha chuckles as he pushes an errant strand of hair from your face.

“I don’t know, you looked pretty sexy curled up on the bed in...did you steal my robe?” Misha asks with fake indignation.

Taking advantage of proximity you grab his hand from your hair and tug it down to the neckline of the robe.

“You can always take it back if you like.” You purr.

When Misha pulls his hand away you can’t help but feel a little confused.

“That’s okay, I’m sure it looks better on you.” he says as he steps away and glances around the room.

“Misha?” you start.

“Or, you can get dressed and we can go out. Let me just call for a cab. We can go out to dinner. Or! Or we could grab something quick and then go to the concert.” Misha says as he paces in front of the bed.

“The concert’s pretty late. I...I told you I have to leave pretty early to drive back in time for work. I guess I could...call out?” you say hesitantly as you try and put pieces together to figure out what’s going on.

“No! Damn, I forgot. Sorry. Then dinner!” Misha says, almost a frantic edge to his voice.

“Misha, what’s going on? Do you...do you not want to be alone with me?” You ask, suddenly feeling very small. “Do you...do you not want to touch me anymore? I was worried but then your panel...then the green room…but…”

“No! Shit.” Misha says as he drops down to sit on the bed next to you as he rakes his hand through his hair.

“What’s going on Misha?” You ask as you tentatively reach for his hand, twining your fingers with his when he doesn’t pull away. “Things haven’t been the same since...but then you seemed happy to see me...touch me. But...if you don’t want me anymore Misha please just tell me. I...I promise I’ll understand.”

“Damn it, that’s not…” Misha pauses to gather his thoughts. When he speaks again his voice is almost pained “You didn’t know.”

“I didn’t know what?” you ask as you start to rub small circles on the back of Misha’s hand.

“You didn’t know that I was... _ am _ in love with you. It kills me that you might have thought what we had…that it was just about getting off.” Misha says as he finally looks up and meets your eyes. 

The tears you see gathering there nearly break you.

“Misha I may not have realized how you felt, but I never once thought it was just about orgasms for either of us. Not even once, from the moment you snuck up on me that morning and turned me into a bumbling idiot. The orgasms were just an added benefit.” You finish with a smirk.

Misha smiles softly at you as he brings your hand up to his lips and places a soft kiss on the back of your hand.

“That being said...We talk. A lot. And we spend a lot of time together. But we aren’t often together in a physical sense...able to do  _ physical _ things. So please don’t think poorly of me if I say I’d rather order room service and stay in so you can fuck the ever loving daylights outta me until I have to leave.”

“No.” Misha says with a frown.

“No?” you squeak.

“You’re not driving that long without getting a good night sleep, so you  _ will  _ be going to bed at a decent hour.” Misha’s face softens as he reaches up to cup the back of your head with his free hand to pull your lips towards his “But, that doesn’t mean we can’t make good use of the time we’ve got.”

The warm slide of Misha’s lips against yours sends a shiver through your body. His kisses are soft, almost chase. Every time you push forward to deepen the kiss he pulls back, a smirk curls the corners of his mouth. You let out a frustrated growl against his teasing lips before you take things into your own hands. 

You slide around Misha from the center of the bed where you’ve been sitting and straddle his thighs, the robe parting and leaving no barrier between your sensitive skin and the rough denim of Misha’s pants. When Misha moves away once again you don’t chase him. Instead you roll your hips, pressing your already wet folds against the bulge forming.

There’s no denying that you pout when Misha’s hands move to trap your hips in a bruising grip to keep them still. Of course just because you’re pouting doesn’t mean that it’s not hot as hell to be held so tightly. 

“Misha…” You can’t help but whine.

“Now, now, little girl, we’ll get there. But aren’t you forgetting something?” Misha asks with a challenging glint in his eye.

You run through every possible thing he could be talking about.

“I...I brought condoms...they’re still in my purse…” You answer hesitantly. 

“Uh uh, not what I’m talking about.” Misha says with a slow shake of his head. He pauses a moment to give you time to think. “I’ll give you a hint...you owe me five.”

“Oh!” You say as realization dawns on you.

“There we go. What’s your safeword?” Misha practically growls.

“Kale.” You manage to squeak out.

“Good. Now, we haven’t really explored or discussed this particular area so I’m trusting you to be honest with me so I can learn what and how much you can take. Understand?”

“Yes, Misha.” You say as butterflies start to swarm in your belly.

“First question, do you feel more comfortable if I do it over the robe or is bare skin okay?” Misha asks as one hand moves up to smooth your hair while the other moves to rub gentle circles on your lower back and the slope of the top of your ass.

“Bare skin.” You answer, opting to keep your words short and sweet so as not to expose your nerves.

You want this, you want it so bad you can barely keep yourself from squirming. But that doesn’t mean you aren’t nervous and you’re worried if Misha senses it he’ll stop.

“Next question. You’ve got five. Do you want me to start off light? Go light the whole time, just enough to sting?” Misha asks after leaning in to kiss your forehead softly to praise you for your answer.

“No...it’s only five. I...I don’t want you to hold back.” You say, biting down on your lower lip to keep it from giving you away after you speak.

Misha’s eyes crease with concern as he searches your face.

“Are you sure? This isn’t a test sweetie.” Misha says, punctuated by more smoothing and rubbing. 

“I know,” You say with a soft smile. “I trust you Misha. I know that all I have to do is safeword and you’ll stop.”

“Alright then.” Misha says before pulling you in for a deep, lingering kiss.

You’ve got zero warning when you find yourself being lifted and flipped so that you’re lying face down over Misha’s lap. 

“You’re so cute when you squeak like that.” Misha’s voice comes from just out of your vision.

You didn’t squeak. You  _ didn’t. _ It was totally just the air being forced from your lungs suddenly.

You shiver when Misha slowly draws the hem of the robe up, dragging it over the back of your knees, the sensitive skin of your thighs, the swell of your ass, until your rear is exposed to the air...and eyes you can  _ feel _ on your skin.

You anticipate the sharp sting and tense up. Instead Misha rests one hand on your lower back and the other on the bare skin of your cheeks.

“You gotta relax first.” Misha says softly as he massages you, trying to draw out the tension.

“Jeez Misha, are you gonna spank my ass or fuck it.” You joke with a laugh, belatedly recognizing that this  _ may _ not be the best time.

You feel Misha lean down. You’ve got the side of your face pressed into the bed looking away from him. His breath over your ear and neck causes your internal temperature to rise a few degrees.

“Don’t tempt me little girl.” He says, low and dangerous. “I’ll open you up and fuck that tight little ass ‘til I fill you up and leave you begging to come. Jensen’ll just have to deal with the disappointment that I beat him there.”

“‘M Sorry, Misha.” You whimper as your stomach knots at the idea of being left desperate and wanting.

“I’m sure you are, sweetie. But you’re gonna be sorrier.”

With only the warning of Misha straightening up and his hands leaving your body, sharp jarring pain reverberates through you when his hand comes back down and you’ve no doubt that he held nothing back.

Your very loud cry is indicative enough of that fact.

“Shit.” Misha mumbles. “I can’t ask you to be quiet, that’s too much.”

Misha shifts around underneath and beside you. You hear the sound of a belt being unbuckled and yanked through belt loops. For a moment you wonder if Misha’s decided it’s too risky to do this here. Then you feel Misha’s finger hook into the corner of your mouth to force open your jaw before the folded leather is pressed between your lips and teeth. The taste of leather against your tongue and the feeling of being gagged is mixing with the burn of your ass to do amazing things to your dripping core.

Misha rubs against the warmed skin of your ass before lifting his hand again.

_ Smack _ .

This time it’s on the other cheek. Your scream is still forced from your body but the improvised gag does it’s job and it’s muffled enough that nosy neighbors shouldn’t hear a thing. You can’t help but whimper when Misha’s hand once again rubs your pinked up cheek. You can feel tears starting to form in your eyes.

_ Smack. _

Another scream rips out of you. Misha is most definitely not holding back, his strikes even and not even a little gentle. It causes a sharp contrast with the gentle ministrations that come in between. You feel your body starting to shake, unable to control it. Something is building.

_ Smack. _

Even biting down hard into the leather, likely leaving teeth marks in the belt that won’t be repairable, isn’t enough to stifle the sound that comes from deep within you. Something in the back of your mind registers that each time Misha pauses to rub the abused skin of your ass is as much about giving you time to safeword as it is to remind you of the tenderness he gives you. How much he cares about you. How much he loves you…

_ Smack. _

The last blow lands along the crease of your ass with the tips of Misha’s fingers wrapping around to just barely catch the bottom of your slit. The scream that is pulled from you quickly morphs as your whole body shakes with an uncontrollable sob.

“Shit!”

Misha’s hands grasp your waist and you’re quickly pulled back up so that you’re straddling his thighs again, this time with him leaning back so that you can lean forward to keep pressure off your stinging, bruised flesh. He takes the belt from your mouth and drops it to the floor before he searches your tear drenched eyes as you’re wracked with another sob.

“Why didn’t you safeword? If it was too much...you promised you’d safeword.” Misha says frantically, without a hint of accusation to his tone.

“I’m sorry, Misha.” You manage to whisper between sobs.

“What?” Misha asks confused. “Wait, this...this wasn’t punishment...not for anything  _ real _ . This was supposed to be something to enjoy, sweetie. Please don’t tell me you let me hurt you because you thought you deserved it.”

The look in Misha’s eyes is heartbreaking. You shake your head frantically.

“No, Misha. No. That was fine...I...I enjoyed it...but...I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” You manage to force out before having to look away.

Misha’s hand that isn’t propping him up on the bed gently grasps your chin and moves your face back so that you’re facing him once again.

“Tell me what, little girl?” He asks softly, but with a steel to his voice that keeps your eyes on him.

“That I love you too.” You say around a hiccuping sob. “I should have told you sooner...I just-”

You’re cut off by the desperate press of Misha’s lips against yours. He pours every ounce of love and desperation and  _ need _ into a kiss that goes on and on. Like he’s mapping every inch of your lips and mouth and tongue to see if the words had changed it’s shape, texture or taste.

As the kiss goes on you feel a shift. The sobs have died down and the weight of words unspoken has lifted. At some point you started rolling your hips again and you aren’t sure either of you were entirely aware of the movement until you gasp at the sudden press from Misha’s fully hard cock, just barely restrained behind denim. You pull away to catch his gaze. At some point your hands had migrated up to frame his face. You feel the rough stubble scraping against your palms. Misha’s eyes are hazy, his pupils blown. His lips are swollen and spit slicked and you’re tempted to just dip back in for more.

Then Misha’s hands slide down a little from where they had been holding you at the small of your back and your nerves light up with the sudden touch against red, heated flesh. Misha’s eyes grow impossibly darker at the moan the touch draws from you. You hold eye contact as you speak.

“Misha, please,  _ please.  _ Will you fuck me now?” You plead.

Misha groans, his eyes sliding shut as his head shakes minutely.

“Take this robe off then get over to the middle of the bed and lay face down.” He says between gritted teeth.

You’re a little confused by the order but you move to comply, dropping the robe to the floor before laying down. Maybe Misha’s making good on what he promised before. Oh please don’t let him be planning to not let you come.

“Close your eyes and relax.” Misha whispers at your ear.

You do as you’re told and then you wait. You hear what sounds like clothes hitting the floor but you keep your eyes closed. The bed dips and soon you feel warm hands running up and down your back and arms. The heated press of lips against the base of your neck is a surprise but you’re so relaxed you don’t even move.

That’s the start of fifteen minutes of what can only be described as worship. Misha bathes every inch of your neck, shoulders, back and arms with mouth and tongue, tasting each dip, each curve, gently sucking each fingertip between his lips. Then he moves down to the tips of your toes and works his way along the arch of your foot, over your heel, along the curve of your calf into the dip behind your knee, up the soft flesh of your thigh. 

He moves back down to the toes of your other foot and follows the same path, each kiss and stroke of tongue gentle and patient. As if here and now was all that exists with no flights or long drives to separate you. When he reaches where thigh curves into ass he pauses and runs his hands gently over the cherry red and likely bruising flesh, whether in silent apology to the flesh or an admiration of his work it’s hard to tell. Knowing Misha, probably a little of both. Then his mouth is back, kissing away the sting, covering each cheek in tiny apologies.

The broad, hot stroke of tongue that dips between your cheeks to sweep across the furled circle there is entirely unexpected and may cause a slight yelp. You open your eyes to look back over your shoulder and see Misha grinning up at you, his mouth still pressed against the crease of your ass.

“Another time.” He murmurs against your skin before sliding up to lay next to you on his back, his hand stroking your hair once again as he gazes into your eyes. “Would you like to know what I really want right now?”

“What Misha? I want to make you feel as good as you make me feel. Tell me.” You say as you catch his hand. You draw the tip of his pointer finger between your lips and swirl your tongue around it.

“What I would like more than anything, is for you to make love to me.” Misha says so quietly.

His face is so open and fragile it could easily break your heart. Misha’s so used to being the one in control, the one driving at least the physical aspect of the relationship that asking for this is putting him in a vulnerable position.

Then there’s the fact that he’s asking you to make love to him, not fuck him...because now he knows for certain that it’ll be love for both of you. If Misha’s hold on your heart could get any stronger it might just squeeze it to pieces. That would be okay though because Misha would be there to put them right back together.

You give Misha a soft smile and press a gentle kiss to his lips before you release his hand and slide off the bed. You hear him shifting toward the middle of the bed as you go to your purse to retrieve a condom. Somehow you still manage to blush as Misha’s eyes drink in your naked body unapologetically. He bites down on his bottom lip as you climb onto the bed and move to straddle his thighs. His cock is already swollen and red but you still give it a few experimental strokes, spreading the precome that is steadily weeping from the slit along his length.

You can’t help giving a saucy grin before you grab the corner of the condom wrapper with your teeth and tear it open. Misha’s eyes press closed as you roll the condom on and squeeze gently. Then you shift forward and lift up so that you’ve got Misha’s hips boxed in with your knees.

“Misha look at me.” You whisper as you reach for his hand with your free hand.

He opens his eyes and twines his fingers with yours. Neither of you look away as you hold the head of his cock against your opening and start to slide down. When you can let go you reach frantically for Misha’s free hand to mirror the other. Both of you are squeezing so hard as you slowly lower yourself down that your knuckles are white and there will likely be crescent shaped cuts on both sets of hands.

Misha hadn’t so much as had a finger inside you since this afternoon. The stretch as he fills you is enough to light up the coiled warmth that’d been simmering low in your belly. You desperately want to press down and fill yourself up completely. Ride Misha with abandon. Instead, Misha’s eyes keep you locked on him and you move achingly slow. 

It feels like forever until you finally bottom out, Misha’s pelvis pressing gently against your clit. You rock experimentally a couple of times as you let yourself get accustomed to the stretch. Then you use Misha’s hands to hold up your weight as you begin to move up and down, rolling your hips as you go.

Minutes pass as you continue, a sheen of sweat builds up on the both of you as your muscles quiver in their restraint. Not once do you break eye contact. You watch as Misha’s breath becomes broken and shallow when he starts to edge towards his finish. The slow torture has gone on almost twenty minutes now, and yet he doesn’t close his eyes and you don’t stop. You pour everything you have, every moment of love, of fear, of forgiveness given and taken into this one act.

“I’m close, little girl.” Misha rasps out. “I want you to touch yourself now.”

You nod, wordlessly as you release Misha’s hand, gripping the other even tighter. The change in leverage shifts your body just slightly and you find that Misha’s cock is dragging against your g-spot each time you slide down. You slide your fingers between your slick, sweaty bodies and gently circle your clit. The jump in pleasure is almost uncontainable as your orgasm almost immediately begins to crest.

As you squeeze around Misha like a vice, he struggles to keep his eyes open, swelling inside you. Tears are gathering in his eyes and you’re entirely unsurprised that you feel them reflected in your own. Everything feels intense with Misha, but this goes even beyond that.

When your body begins to shake as your orgasm rolls through you, Misha twitches inside you, which only prolongs your own pleasure. As you feel him spilling his release inside you, filling the condom, you shift to grasp his free hand again, your slick moisture coating his hand and making the grip slippery. Misha only holds tighter as you continue to roll against him, pulling every last drop from him until you’re both completely spent.

You drop against Misha and roll to the side to nestle into the crook of his arm as he carefully pulls off the condom and ties it off. He tosses it to the floor, muttering something about being too tired to move. It’s strange, you wouldn’t call what just happened vigorous and even with the limited time you’ve had with Misha, it was definitely not the most athletic thing you’d done with him. Maybe it’s the length of time, or maybe it’s the amount of restraint you both showed but you feel practically drugged.

Not so out of it that thoughts aren’t able to start circling around your mind.

“Misha.” You say as you lazily trace the contours of his chest. “I almost called out.”

“Hmm?” Misha hums, his eyes closed and his face content.

“I don’t think you heard me, you were on your little tear. But I said I would call out of work.” You finish, your hand stilling as you avoid the eyes you know are open and trying to read your face. 

“Hmm, guess I missed that. Just so you know, I wouldn’t have let you. I promise you, just this once, it’s okay if you let me be strong enough for both of us.” Misha says, his voice both playful and sincere in the same instance.

“It’s gonna be hard to leave in the morning. I may...I may…” Your voice shakes with self reproach.

“Hey. I mean it. I’ll just have to distract you. Now do me a favor and lift your cute red ass up so I can get the covers.” Misha says as he slips his arm out from under you and rolls off the bed.

You lift yourself up incrementally as Misha slides the blanket and top sheet down before laying back down next to you and pulling the covers back up. You snuggle back into him and practically purr in contentment. When the vibrations of his chuckle tickle your face you have to tilt your head to look up at him.

“You’re gonna be thinking of me the entire seven hour drive home, you know that right? Every bump, every rut. All me and what I did to that beautiful ass of yours.” Misha’s chuckle only grows when you pull away and smack his chest playfully.

You’re both exhausted and out within minutes, the lights still on.

Thankfully Misha must have woken up at some point because the lights are off but the alarm on his phone, that you’re certain he hadn’t set before you fell asleep, is going off. You’re both grumble until Misha finally pries himself out from under you and grabs his phone from the nightstand.

You spend a good ten minutes just kissing in bed. Your hand drifts down Misha’s chest but he catches it just as it dips below his belly button.

“No no, little girl. No time for that. Time to get ready to go.” Misha says as he sits up and lets the covers slide to his waist, uncovering your shoulders in the process.

“No, don’t wanna.” You mumble as you burrow deeper under the covers.

Strong hands yank the covers from your gripping hands and you look up at a very stern looking face.

“It’s gonna be a tough drive as it is, darling. Don’t make me punish you further.” Misha says, danger edging his voice.

As if on cue you feel the dull throb of pain radiating from your ass and suddenly you’ve never been so anxious to get out of bed. You contemplate a shower but instead opt for a quick wipe down to rid yourself of the dried sweat. After you dress, brush your teeth and hair and finish packing up your dirty clothes Misha pulls you into a tight embrace. For just a moment the energy of the room sparks to frantic but then you feel him relax against you.

You stand there, in Misha’s arms, exchanging lazy kisses for what seems like eternity. As the time to leave gets closer and closer you start to tense up but every time Misha shifts, his hand rubbing and pressing at any muscles that aren’t completely pliant. 

The kissing never changes though. You think maybe they’ll start to intensify, maybe become more desperate when it gets to the point that each start after taking a breath could be the last. Instead it stays soft and just this side of heated. For a moment you think you could spend the rest of your life just like this as food and sleep and pretty much everything else becomes unimportant.

The spell that’s been weaving around the two of you is broken when there’s an insistent pounding at the door.

“Fuck off.” Misha yells, his lips barely leaving yours before coming back in to capture them once again, his mouth curling into a smile and his eyes sparkling.

“Hey asshole, you said to come get you when Jared and I were ready for breakfast.” you hear a familiar voice say loudly from the other side of the door.

“Shit.” Misha whispers against your lips before pressing his forehead against yours.

When Misha pulls away the hint of mischief in his eyes definitely worries you just a bit. But then he is back to kissing you. One of his arms shifts so that it wraps under one of your arms, which are currently around the back of his neck, up your spine with his palm pressing against the back your head to keep your lips locked on his. His other hand drops and he starts walking backwards toward the door, pulling you along with him.

“Misha” you manage to get out between kissing and laughs “What.” More kissing. “What are.”

Misha stops abruptly and you hear more than see the door click open as Misha reaches back blindly. You can’t see much of anything as your view is obscured by Misha. You’re gently nudged back far enough for Misha to pull the door open.

“Oh, hey! Sorry Mish, didn’t ah...didn’t know...You know, I’ll just...come back…” Jensen stammers awkwardly.

There’s more shifting and a surprised grunt that didn’t come from you or Misha before you hear the door slam shut. Suddenly you’re being turned, still pressed into Misha before you’re backed up in the direction of the door, Misha never once letting up on his languid kisses.

You’re surprised at first when you feel the brush of cloth and warmth at your back. The door rattles when Jensen backs into it and then you find yourself pressed between two very warm, firm bodies.

Misha finally lets up on the slow torture of your lips and puts just a tiny amount of space between the two of you. Without warning, Misha spins you around so that you’re facing Jensen. Caught off guard, your newly empty hands fly up to grab onto Jensen’s biceps, much like they had during that photo op months ago. 

Both you and Jensen are wearing matching expressions of wide eyed surprise. Then Misha is back against you, pressing you forward with his body.

“Say hello to Jensen.” Misha whispers, his breath hot against your ear.

Jensen hears him and his expression shifts, surprise melting into something a little more heated.

“He-hello Jensen.” You manage to gasp out through kiss bruised lips.

“Hey sweetheart, good to see you again.” Jensen drawls.

You try very hard to not think about the fact that the last time you ‘saw’ Jensen was when you were splayed out on your bed after double penetrating yourself for Misha when Misha asked if you wanted to be fucked by the both of them.

It’s not working. Especially not when Misha speaks again, goosebumps rising up as his breath ghosts over the skin of your neck.

“Come now, little girl. You can do better than that, can’t you?”

You can’t hold back the shiver that courses through you and you’ve no doubt that the two men pressed against you felt every bit of it. Looking up into Jensen’s eyes as you lick your lips and wait, wait for him to move away, or move in, or even push you away.

When nothing happens you nod in response to Misha before pushing up on your tiptoes, necessary since Jensen isn’t leaning forward, and brush your spit slick lips softly against Jensen’s warm, plush lips.

For one heart stopping moment he doesn’t move and you rethink every possible interaction you had and look for the rejection.

Then Jensen’s hands are sliding between you and Misha, pressing you harder into him as he leans down to take control, kissing you breathless.

On the one hand it’s similar to kissing Misha, the same controlled dominating force. But where Misha’s dominance is laced with touches of gentleness Jensen is all take. He doesn’t wait for you to open to him but presses his way in, forcing his tongue between your lips, teeth pressing into your overly sensitives lips just this side of too hard. 

The thought of Jensen going at you with wild abandon as Misha keeps you safe and happy burrows itself a nice little home in your brain. As Jensen’s fingers dig into the skin just above where the bruising of the previous night’s activities is and Misha presses against you, keeping his hands trapped there while pressing his very,  _ very, _ hard cock into your very tender ass you wonder if you could come just like this.

Then it’s over.

“Time to go, little girl.” Misha whispers with his lips pressed against the nape of your neck.

You’re fairly certain you’re only still upright through the strength of the two men pressed against you. As you pull away from Jensen your head is spinning and your body is on fire. Slowly, Misha steps back and the press against your body is gone. You feel a little cold but you realize that you’re okay. You expected that those words would cause you to fall to pieces, or at the very least test your resolve to  _ not _ call out of work. 

Instead all you feel is warmth, a strange contentment that comes from feeling like this isn’t goodbye for good, that there will always be more to come.

You also realize that this is exactly what Misha had in mind when he formed this little scheme in his head after the knock on the door. You step far enough away from Jensen so that he can move past you and further into the room, clearing the door for you to open. You scoop up your purse and overnight bag from beside the door where they’re waiting and turn back to face the guys.

“Nice seeing you Jensen. “ You say breathily, grinning as you eye the tent of his jeans.

You step towards Misha and brush your lips across his, gently, almost reverently. A promise of the future.

“I love you,” You whisper as you pull away, surprised at how comfortable you are with those words already.

Misha reaches out to clasp your free hand to squeeze it.

“I love you.” He says before releasing your hand. “Text me when you stop for a break.”

With the promise to do just that you’re out the door and soon out of the building. The sadness that permeated your goodbyes the last time you were together is so faint it’s almost not even there.

Whatever this is, whatever the two of you have, goodbyes will never need to be truly sad because there will always be more hellos. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so that's the last of this particular part of the series. Hope y'all liked it! I had originally planned for a smut filled evening of debauchery but they just didn't cooperate with that. 
> 
> I still have at least two more parts to this series but I'll be taking a short break to work on some of the fics I'm cowriting on. I've found with having too many irons in the fire that I lose motivation to write at all because I can't choose.
> 
> Come find me on tumblr! http://spnbrennafae.tumblr.com/
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for comments/kudos. They mean the absolute world to me.

**Author's Note:**

> Just remember that I love each and every one of you and I only do this because I know you all secretly live on angst.
> 
> This will likely be two chapters, although considering it was only supposed to be a one shot and now its multiple chapters...we'll see.
> 
> Also, I could really use some comments and feedback as I've been hitting a bit of a downward spike with my writing and as y'all live on angst I live on love from you.
> 
> Lastly come find me on http://spnbrennafae.tumblr.com/


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